a literary haunting

This evening I got lost in Wanstead. Picture me, out there on the rim of the world, in Zone 4, overshooting my stop on the 101 bus, and left to wander by the roadside with only my mobile phone in hand. Across the road, nothing but an endless black barren waste - probably some sort of suburban playing field - and much further away, across the other side of that, Canary Wharf glinting forlornly in the distance, far to the west...

Dearie me! I did eventually get to my friend's house, but believe me, I got a cab back to Stokey. And you wouldn't believe how quick it is, once you're in a car.

In other news, I had an email from Norman Mailer today. I know, surprising, isn't it? I know it was really from him, though: it was signed, "the late Norman Mailer."